


Saying Goodbye

by AngryPirateHusbands



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Coping, Death, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Loss, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 20:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8503522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryPirateHusbands/pseuds/AngryPirateHusbands
Summary: Missing scene from S3 episode 4.Silver grieves the loss of his friend Muldoon, and Flint seeks to comfort him.





	

The moment Flint awoke in his cabin he could tell that something was amiss. The first thing he noticed was the sunlight filtering through the window. But more than that it was the eerie quiet, the stillness. Normally his trained ear could pick up the gusts of wind and rocking waves, no matter how gentle. The fact that he now heard nothing whatsoever was more than just a little troubling. The grave expression Silver wore as he led him out onto the deck only served to affirm his suspicions. They had finally broken free from the turbulent waters of the storm only to be thrown adrift somewhere deep within the Duldrums. The ocean that stretched out around them was perfectly calm. Still, silent, flat. Without wind to fill their sails they were as good as dead, and Silver pointed out as much. While they would certainly drift along the waters, it would not be enough to bring them to land. Despite the dire circumstances, the quartermaster appeared uncharacteristically melancholy. This was not the first time Silver had been faced with his own imminent mortality, and based on his flippant tongue it wouldn't be the last. Whether it had been right after he had destroyed the schedule out in the Wrecks, when his role as the true thief had been discovered, or when they had been sitting on the beach awaiting their sentences, the man always had that glimmer in his eye. The distinct lack of any worry as he thought up a plan to escape death's grasp once again. And yet here he was, strangely distant and without anything to say.

When Billy explained that Muldoon was among the many they had lost in the storm, everything seemed to fall in place. There was no mistaking that Silver and Muldoon had experienced quite the rough patch when he had first come aboard. The man held no reserves when it came to snapping at him, whether it was for his shoddy cooking or some other piss poor reason. Yet since Charlestown they had become quite close. Friends, even. And when Flint learned just how it was that Muldoon had died, he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. His jaw clenched as he imagined Silver trapped down below, completely helpless to save the man from drowning. He had realized his own worse nightmare. Of being weak and powerless to help when someone truly needed it. Flint was no stranger to loss. When he took Miranda and fled with her to Nassau, listening to her instead of following his own desires to at least try and save Thomas... It had killed him. When he lost Miranda he was ruined. But to actually _watch_ someone that he cared for die... He couldn't imagine going through such an experience. Especially alone.

And so Flint prepared himself. While Silver was now hobbling about the main deck, performing his duties as quartermaster with strength and resolve and without a fault, he waited. He knew John Silver. Keeping up a brave face around the men was one of his many natural talents. Forcing convincing smiles, coercing the men with his tongue. But he knew that eventually that façade would crack, and the grief he felt would tear through him with a fury worse than the storm that stranded them. However, it didn't come when he thought it would. Once the hold was secured and they had salvaged what provisions they could, it then came to the task of recovering Muldoon's body for a proper burial. Silver had almost immediately volunteered, and just as quickly Flint refused him. His reasoning was that the recent events had already done a number on his stump. The tender skin was far more red and inflamed than usual, and he wouldn't risk further infection by allowing him back into that water. At least that was the reason he gave. In truth his concern went far past that. He was worried that if Silver attempted to help with this, to see Muldoon's body, it would break him. He remembered what he had felt when he laid eyes on Miranda, the bullet hole in her temple still red as her pale form was propped up in that coffin. It felt as thought his heart had been torn straight through his chest. He wouldn't wish that on anyone, much less the man he had come to care for so.

Silver met his gaze with a hard expression, his eyes perhaps more dangerous than he had ever seen them. Even so he didn't argue, and instead stalked away barking orders at the men. By the time the sun had risen high in the sky, the crew was lined up along the ship's edge. One by one Flint read off the names of those that had perished in their escape. Most of those men had fallen overboard in the storm, and so as per the articles a memento from their person was dropped over the side in their stead. A tribute to the sea, so that those they had lost would finally rest beneath the churning depths. When Muldoon's body was lifted and his name read aloud, Flint could feel the man tense beside him. His jaw was locked in place, his eyes downcast as he refused to look at the corpse shrouded in canvas. The moment that body was cast over the side Silver too had gone. Though there were a few men that remained to be honored, no one dared stand in their quartermaster's way. The men that had found him below, standing over Muldoon's drowned form, knew how this loss had affected him. And so they would allow him to grieve. Flint, however, had his duties. He continued the burials for the others before dismissing the men that remained.

Flint could hear the commotion before he even reached his cabin. He was familiar with the all-consuming rage Silver was surely feeling. He knew how it could drive you to destroy everything in sight, anything within reach. And so he readily recognized the clatter of a chair crashing across the floor before hitting the wall. Of books being flung against the door and items being swept off his desk only to crash against the floorboards. At least several items broke with a shatter. However, the only part of this that was foreign to the man was being the one on this side of the door. Flint waited for a brief moment of silence before slipping inside. The door was shut swiftly behind him as he took in the state of his cabin. Sure enough his chair laid a broken mess in the corner. His globe had smashed on the floor, and the room was a disaster of papers, books, and spilled ink. Yet what shook Flint the most was the state of the man that stood before him. Silver stood with his palms pressed flat against the now crooked desk. Even from his spot by the door he could see the way his chest shook with each heavy breath.

When Silver finally noticed his presence he spoke, his voice grating. "I'll pick it up." He didn't even cast him a glance.

Flint released an even breath but didn't answer. He couldn't care less about the mess and Silver knew that. His words were but a thinly veiled promise in an attempt to dismiss him. And that was exactly what he refused to do. He would not turn away from Silver, not after all he had done to keep him from sinking into the depths of his own sorrow. It was now his turn to offer his hand, to lend an ear and stand by as he helped the other pick up the pieces of what remained. Flint was quiet as he approached the other man. He went with caution, well aware that in his current state he may very well lash out. Or at the very least throw something at him. Yet he didn't. When Flint rested a hand on his quartermaster's shoulder he could feel the muscles grow lax beneath his touch. With a slight grip he coaxed the man to face him. When he did he could feel his own expression soften. Silver's downcast blue eyes shone like glass and his cheeks were wet.

Without hesitation Flint drew the man into his arms. Silver easily gave way to that touch, the man all but burying his face against his neck. Fingers tightly clutched the folds of his coat as Flint held him. He could feel the tears that dampened his skin, the way Silver's form shook, his breath hitching softly as he sobbed. The captain released his own shaken breath as his arms wound more tightly around him. A hand reached up to wipe Silver's cheek dry with his thumb before those fingers twisted themselves into the mop of black curls. He rested his chin against the edge of his Silver's head. Green eyes slid closed, and Flint allowed himself to sink deep into that embrace to a place where time seemed to stand still. He wasn't quite sure how long the man remained held against him. All that was certain was that he refused to let go until Silver's eyes had dried. Until he no longer had any tears to shed and could meet his gaze, and truthfully tell him that he would be alright.

And so here Flint would remain, with Silver bundled in his arms as he fought to keep the broken pieces from scattering to the wind.


End file.
